


The Book Guy

by Laurelin (Lintelomiel)



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Angst, Backstory, Cats, Christmas, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, London, Loneliness, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Past Relationship(s), Pining, References to Illness, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-12 15:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12961974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lintelomiel/pseuds/Laurelin
Summary: For the past three decades, Richard Armitage has been the quiet driving force behind a small but successful bookshop in South Kensington, London. Steady, reliable and hardworking, he has accepted the routine and predictability that mark his days and rarely takes the time to reflect on the tragic events and subsequent decisions that shaped his life. Until an unexpected friendship makes him reevaluate his life and ask himself the question - is it ever truly too late to turn over a new leaf?





	The Book Guy

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [盖家书屋 (A Chinese Translation of The Book Guy)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745092) by [AliceonceinNeverland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceonceinNeverland/pseuds/AliceonceinNeverland)



> And here is my second calendar story!
> 
> I don't know what to say guys, apparently my mind decided it wanted DEATH and SADNESS this Christmas :P Don't let that keep you from reading tho, I promise the guys will be just fine. Also, there is a surprising amount of Princess Diana in this story but you can blame that on all the commemorative documentaries I watched in the formative months of this fic. Quite a bit of info from those docus found its way in here.
> 
> I am fond of this one and I hope you will like it too - comments are loved and appreciated as usual! x

 

_2016_

It was well past closing time when Richard finally conceded that Lee wasn't going to come and that pretending otherwise was getting more than a little pathetic.

Even so, he trudged over to the front door for what had to be the hundredth time that day and peered forlornly through the glass, into the foggy gloom of the falling evening, still nurturing some hope in spite of himself that he might yet spot a familiar tall silhouette among the few pedestrians who were out on the street, hands shoved deep into their pockets and hats pulled down over their ears to shield them from the biting cold that had London in its grip. Everyone appeared to be in a hurry to get somewhere - to go home and sit by a roaring fire and be with family and loved ones, the way one was expected to do on Christmas Eve.

But it wasn't like that for everyone. For some people, Christmas Eve was just like any other evening in that there was nothing waiting at home but a bland microwave meal and a bottle of liquor to wash it down. No small wonder the number of suicides was said to spike around the holidays, especially in large metropolitan areas like London where, apparently, loneliness was about as common as the flu - _The Guardian_ had done an incendiary article on the phenomenon just a few days earlier that had sparked quite a debate on TV and social media. The public interest would fizzle out soon, however, and absolutely nothing would have been done to address the issue itself. Richard had lived long enough to see this routine play out every few years or so with very few changes.

Sighing, disappointment lying heavy in the pit of his stomach, he flipped the sign around in defeat and let the blinds down to block out the view of the virtually deserted street that offered such a picturesque, Dickensian sight but so little reprieve for his heartache.

 _CLOSED FOR THE HOLIDAYS -_  
_MERRY CHRISTMAS & SEE YOU IN JANUARY._  
_THE BOOK GUY._

As he went to fetch a ladder to take down the mistletoe - the other decorations could wait until January for all he cared, but he was determined that that fucking sprig wasn't going to stay up there and taunt him for a minute longer than necessary - he couldn't help but reflect wistfully on yet another Christmas come and how different he'd quietly hoped this one would turn out.

For the past three decades, he'd been the sole owner of this independent little bookshop tucked between a French boulangerie and a boutique art gallery in leafy South Kensington, a stone's throw from the Natural History Museum and the V&A next door. With its creaking floorboards and period features mostly left intact, the quaint interior still breathed the feel of the mid 1800s, and the shop had once been reviewed in the press as a place where the rush of modern 21st century life stopped at the door. People could quietly peruse the shelves and have a cup of home-brewed coffee or tea and sit in one of the comfortable armchairs by the window and read as much as they wanted before making a purchase. It was no Waterstones by a long shot, but it generated enough revenue to support what was a simple lifestyle by all accounts; he had a loyal clientele among the locals he was mostly on a first name basis with and tourists frequently found their way to his shop as well. He was a quiet man living a quiet life, and although nothing particularly joyful or even memorable ever rocked the routine of his days, he was - for the most part, all things considered - doing okay. And despite the gut-wrenching disappointment this day had brought he would be okay now too.

He _would_.

Once he got that sodding mistletoe out of his sight, anyway.

He clambered up the rungs of the ladder - carefully, because while in good health he was getting on a bit, not as limber as he had been as a young man - and plucked the sad little twig from its nail above the door, where it had served as a conversation piece and source of great hilarity among his customers, even inspired a few kisses that had, without exception, triggered a pang of loneliness and longing in Richard's chest.

Some of the local customers had expressed surprise over the mistletoe; he wasn't exactly known for being frivolous with shop decorations or, well, in general. He had, however, wisely opted not to tell them that the only reason he'd had to hang up the bloody thing in the first place was simply to please a guy - in his defense, an extremely cute guy - who visited the shop once every year in December to do his Christmas shopping, usually hauling away a healthy bagful of books for his parents and brother and sister and a bunch of adorable, gap-toothed nieces and nephews he had proudly shown Richard pictures of on his mobile.

Up close, the mistletoe looked decidedly past its peak, its droopy leaves an apt reflection of Richard's frame of mind, and he almost felt a sense of bitter satisfaction as he unsentimentally tossed it in the bin.

Merry bloody Christmas, indeed.

"Well, that's that, then," he firmly told Oscar, who was blinking up at him judgmentally from his snoozing spot by the stove. "I should put him out of my mind, once and for all."

"Mrow," Oscar said. It sounded skeptical, although Richard conceded it was entirely possible he was just projecting his own feelings onto his cat. After all, he had been trying to put Lee out of his mind for the past half decade and failed, so he wasn't too optimistic about his chances of success now.

The first time Lee had come into the bookshop, one crisp December morning five years ago, Richard hadn't really paid him much attention to begin with except to note that he moved through the shop and its narrow aisles with surprising grace for a man so tall, and that he and the lovely auburn-haired woman he was with spoke English with a foreign accent. Americans, Richard concluded (an assumption that later proved to be only half correct), but evidently not the obnoxious kind one heard horror stories about from people who worked in British tourism. They spoke softly, with lowered voices, and people who lowered their voices in a bookshop were people that Richard liked.

He'd left the two to their browsing and continued jotting down numbers in his binder and tapping away at a calculator (he did own a computer with all the useful software a small business owner could want, but Guy had always crunched the numbers the old-fashioned way and, well, having an economics degree did have its uses), so engrossed in his calculations that the interruption, when it came, gave him a start.

"This place is terrific." The tall man, who had approached the counter without Richard noticing, saw Richard's reaction and offered up an apologetic smile. "Oh shit, did I startle you? Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you like that."

"No, that's, uh- that's quite all right," Richard stammered, failing to return the smile as he suddenly - and unexpectedly - found himself enchanted by a mess of brown wind-ruffled hair and the most beautiful hazel eyes he had ever had the pleasure of looking into, "and, uh, thanks for the compliment. Can I help you find anything?"

"Found plenty already," the man laughed, indicating the stash of books tucked under his arm, "but I'm open to recommendations if you have any? It's a long flight back to Texas, and I could use a good read to take my mind off the turbulence and those plastic meals they serve on board."

He laughed again, a soft and pleasant sound, and this time Richard had the presence of mind to return the smile. "Sure," he said as he shedded his glasses and got up out of his chair, establishing as he did so that the man did have a couple of inches on him, a rarity that gave him a little jolt of - yes, of what exactly? "Any genre you are looking for in particular?"

They'd gone over the various displays together, Richard picking up some of his own favorite titles for the man to look at (he made it a point to never put a book on display he hadn't read himself) and pulling some classics from the shelves next, all the while trying to gauge what type of reading material his American customer would be into. People looking for a little light reading to enjoy on a long trip more often than not ended up in the thriller section (usually walking away with one of the household names, like Nicci French or one of their equally popular Scandinavian counterparts), but he discovered that this young man was more partial to historical novels and science fiction, waxing lyrical about the merits of _Dune_  (which he claimed to have read at least twenty times) while being smiley and absolutely beguiling and making it way harder for Richard to string a coherent sentence together than by all rights it ought to be. The woman, although occasionally glancing their way and smiling as though amused by their interaction, left them to it and continued to browse by herself.

Richard couldn't say that he minded. Life held few pleasures for a solitary old fruitcake like him, but spending a solid twenty minutes discussing literature with a charming, attractive young man was definitely one of them. Even if said man was at least ten years his junior and would never look at him twice, surely there was nothing wrong with a little quiet admiration, kept discreetly to himself?

The man and his female companion ended up staying in the shop for nearly three quarters of an hour, but in the end it was the woman whose eyes went to the clock. "We better be going, Lee. Aidan and Adam will be waiting for us at the restaurant. Besides," she added, offering Richard an apologetic smile, "I think we have been taking up quite enough of this nice gentleman's time."

"That's quite all right," Richard said, possibly a little too quickly. "It's been my pleasure."

At the same time, he mentally thanked the woman for giving him what he would not have dared to ask for himself - a name to go with the face. _Lee_.

"Sorry," Lee said with a sheepish grin, placing his stack of books on the counter. "I do get carried away talking about books."

"I know how that feels." As Richard operated the cash register and Lee paid for his purchases, Richard couldn't help but sneak one of his nicest bookmarks into the bag as a freebie. "I hope your sister enjoys the cookbook."

"Oh, I'm sure she will. She'll get stuck right in with these recipes, mark my words. And the best part is, the family will all get to enjoy the scones and the shortcake and various other wonders of British cuisine I've been sampling here. So between my mom's Christmas roulade and Sally's pastries, I'm all set for the holidays, I reckon. What about you?"

"Me?" Richard stuttered, taken aback by the unexpected personal question. It was probably because the guy was American, he told himself; Americans and Brits adhered to entirely different rules of social interaction. And what was more, Lee actually seemed interested in the answer. "I, uh, I'll be all right."

"Well, it's Christmas. I hope you'll be more than all right." Lee reached out to take the heavy bag Richard handed him over the counter. Not entirely altruistically, Richard had picked one of the sturdy canvas ones with the shop name and logo on it _._ "Thanks again for all your help. Scouting out the local bookshops when I'm abroad is a tic of mine, and this place is really great."

"Well, I hope you visit again next time you're in London." Richard blinked. Was he going mad or did that just come out sounding a lot more flirtatious than he'd planned? God, how mortifying, and what an excellent way to make sure Lee gave the shop a wide berth next time. _Oh yeah, that's the place where that old sod made a pass at me last time._ And then he'd dish up the story to whoever he was with as a fun little anecdote, and have a good laugh.

If Lee noticed the blush rapidly taking over Richard's face or picked up on his consternation at all, he was kind enough not to let Richard know it. "You bet I will, uhm..." He raised his eyebrows in a wordless inquiry, and Richard's face grew even hotter. Christ, this was getting ridiculous.

"Richard."

At this, Lee smiled - a warm, open smile that seemed completely genuine, and he turned up his collar before heading outside with his... friend? Somehow Richard didn't get a romantic vibe off the two. Which was good. But, he reminded himself the very next moment, also a completely moot point, considering that this man was about as far out of Richard's league as the sun was to the earth. _Never gonna happen, chum!_

"Merry Christmas, Richard."

With that final greeting he walked out the door and Richard's life, leaving Richard behind in bewilderment over what had just occurred, an event that had brought an unexpected ray of brightness to an otherwise nondescript, dreary December day. It was only after a few moments of just staring dumbly at the door that Richard was able to shake off the spell and reluctantly return to his bookkeeping, the task made even more tedious by comparison. However, the encounter left a smile on his face that proved difficult to shed, the warmth in Lee's final greeting and the way he'd curled his baritone around the shape of Richard's name a pleasant memory to take out and ponder whenever he got to daydreaming during those quiet moments when there were no customers to serve or chores to tend to (moments he usually spent catching up on his reading). It was probably a foolish thing even to admit to, but Lee stayed in his thoughts even after he'd closed up for the night and climbed the stairs up to his first floor apartment right above the shop, where he put on the kettle for an easy dinner of instant noodles.

In spite of Lee's promise, however, Richard did not truly expect their paths to cross again. A promise like that was easily made, after all, and Texas was a long, long way from London. So as the weeks and months went by, Lee slowly moved further and further to the back of Richard's mind. But he never left it completely. Because every now and then a tall person would walk into the shop and Richard would get that little shock of near-recognition, or he'd be helping a customer with almost those same hazel eyes that would remind him of the friendly Texan and that would inevitably put a smile on his face again.

So when the next December rolled around (the week before Christmas was always a busy time for bookshops and Richard's was no exception) and the actual, real Lee walked in off the street one afternoon, still tall and still gorgeous, Richard could not help but stare at him in awestruck shock.

And this time, Lee was alone.

"Lee," he blurted, too surprised to say anything else and wanting to slap himself for acting such an idiot.

His reward was one of those easy, boyish smiles. "You remember me."

Richard was still gaping at the man. _For Christ's sake, pull yourself together and fast_. "You actually came back."

"Hey, I promised I would, didn't I?" Lee took off his wool hat and stuffed it in his pocket, running long fingers through his hair. "I got some friends around these parts, we try to meet up every year and December is usually a good time for me to get away for a spell."

"And your friend couldn't join you this time? The lady who was with you last year?"

"No, Evie had to go and get herself a boyfriend in the interim, snake that she is." Lee winked to make it clear he was joking. "She's spending the holidays in Hawaii with him. Who knows, she may move out there sometime next year. Lucky, huh?"

Richard nodded thoughtfully. He'd had quite a few friends disappear from his life after they got into relationships, so that feeling of abandonment and being left behind was one he knew well. He hoped Evie was cut from a different cloth. "You may get to visit her there, though, so I'd say that makes you pretty lucky by extension."

"That's true. I would love to go there and try out the waves. You ever been to Hawaii?"

At this, Richard laughed. It wasn't a bitter laugh or a mean-spirited one - it just burst out of him because... well. "Sorry, didn't mean to laugh at you. It's just that... I don't get to travel a whole lot. Business owner, see." He gestured at the shop at large. "And I'm the only one keeping it afloat, seven days a week since 1989."

"Wow." Lee looked genuinely impressed. "You must have been really young when you got this place up and running."

Richard could have bitten his tongue clean in half. _Good job bringing to his attention just how ancient you are, you prat_. Granted, there was a bit more to the story of how he'd ended up here than Lee knew, but Richard wasn't exactly in a position to explain the details. Lee probably wouldn't care anyway.

He quickly steered away from the topic. "So hey, tell me - how did your sister like the cookbook?"

Lee laughed. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised you remembered that too. Well, she absolutely loves it and she's churning out English muffins that make grown men cry. I would bring you a couple on my next trip if I had a way to keep them as fresh and spongy as she makes them. I told her about this place and she actually gave me a list of titles - some super obscure cookbooks that are apparently out of print or just plain untraceable in the US. So... all my sister's hopes are on you now, Richard."

Lee's grin made Richard weak in the knees. _Never mind your sister's muffins, you've got a smile to make grown men cry_. "That's quite a responsibility, Lee, but I'll try not to disappoint. Uh - show me the list?"

That afternoon, Lee ended up sticking around for about an hour and a half before heading out to meet his friends and see _Les Mis_ at the West End. ("You like musicals?" he asked Richard, laughing when he saw his facial expression, "That's okay, it's not for everyone.") He spent a big chunk of that time in one of the comfy chairs by the window, sipping from a cup of hot cocoa and reading the first chapter or so of a science fiction novel Richard had recommended to him, and even though Richard was occasionally called away to help other customers, he couldn't help but glance over at him every now and then. Over the years, people of all ages and from all walks of life had sat in those chairs, but he'd noticed that almost all those differences fell away the minute people opened a book and started to read. He'd seen red-cheeked little kids completely engrossed in a picture book and nearly blind elderly people listening to audio books with their eyes closed (he honored a 'try before you buy' policy and kept a pair of headphones behind the counter for occasions like these) and everything in between. Reading made the world a better place, and getting to watch people with their nose stuck in a book was, for Richard, one of the perks of the job.

That day, Richard also found out through their conversation that Lee did not in fact live in Texas as he'd assumed but in New York (a city he spoke about with real pride and fondness, both of which shone through in those extraordinarily expressive eyes) and that he worked for a charity organization for which he regularly traveled to Africa and that he was currently training for the New York marathon and had been a competitive swimmer in his teens. His dad was a Vietnam veteran and his mum a retired teacher and he had three nieces and two nephews and another due in May.

"You ever think of branching out to the States, hit me up," Lee joked as Richard handed him his bag of purchases (including one or two cookbooks from his sister Sally's list - Richard had promised to try and hunt the others down through his connections in the antiquarian market). "New Yorkers would go nuts for a shop like this, and I'd quit my job in a heartbeat to run it for you."

"Unfortunately I have no such plans at the present," Richard said, still baffled as to why his unassuming little shoebox store on Thurloe Street garnered such unbridled enthusiasm from a worldly man like Lee, or why he would even fleetingly think about giving up building schools in Zimbabwe for a job in retail.

"Too bad." Lee winked. "Let me know if you change your mind, though."

Since then, Lee had continued to come back every year in December, without fail, to make his Christmas purchases and to catch up with Richard seemingly for the pleasure of it. Richard came to rely on these yearly visits - he could feel the jitters starting to take hold as early as September - and prepared for them religiously throughout the year, reading like a fiend and hand selecting new releases he thought Lee would enjoy. Why exactly he went to such lengths for a guy he only saw once a year was a matter he tried not to ponder; he just knew that Lee's visits were a highlight of his year and that every time, they would pick up the conversation where they'd left off, as if no time had passed at all.

Like they were old friends.

On Lee's third visit, in 2013, Richard was shown pictures of Lee's swaddled newborn nephew ("His name is Samuel," the proud uncle beamed, "look at that little burrito.") and of a tanned, wet-haired and grinning Lee in a wetsuit on a Hawaiian beach, one arm wrapped around a surf board and the other around Evie. He'd even brought Richard a souvenir from that distant archipelago in the Pacific - a snow globe with a little coral reef and a sea turtle inside it.

"I know it's super tacky," Lee apologized as Richard turned the globe over, speechless, and watched the glitter swirl around slowly inside the sphere, making the scene come alive. As a boy he had collected them, but there was no way Lee could know that. "And I know it's a poor substitute for an actual trip, but..."

"No." Richard shook his head, too stunned to care about the unexpected tears that had sprung to his eyes. "It's lovely. Thank you."

Lee beamed, apparently unaware of Richard's emotional response. "You're welcome. When I was in Hawaii I thought of our conversation and immediately knew I wanted to bring something back for you. And, well, after all those free bookmarks I've bummed off you it is only fair that I get you something for a change."

Richard blushed like a fiend at that, mortified to learn that Lee had noticed his generosity with the bookmarks, but thankfully, Oscar saved him from having to respond in any way.

"Hey - oh my God," Lee softly exclaimed as he looked down and saw the ginger-and-white feline weaving loops around his legs. "You have a cat?"

Richard nodded. "I'm not sure if I have the cat or he has me, but... yeah. He's a stray, kept showing up here looking for food and affection. But especially food. I took him to the vet to be checked out and he's not chipped, so... they told me he probably decided he wanted to live here."

"I can't say I blame him." When Lee knelt down to pet him, Oscar leaned into him heavily, purring loudly with contentment. "Hi, buddy. You're a friendly fella, aren't you?"

Richard caught himself still cradling the snow globe in his hands like a delicate baby chick and turned to put it on the counter behind him. "Anyway, I'm calling him Oscar."

Lee looked up at him from the floor, a knowing smile on his face. "Let me guess - Wilde?"

"Is there any other Oscar worth naming your cat after?"

"Not one that I can think of off the top of my head." Lee let Oscar's thick, fluffy tail slide through his fingers. "He's gorgeous. Why haven't I seen him before?"

"He's only been with me a couple of months. Not that you would know it, from the way he's been taking over the place and aggressively befriending the customers."

Lee laughed. "Oh, I bet he's a big hit. No one complain of allergies, though?"

"I worried they might, but nah, I'm a compulsive cleaner anyway and I dust the place religiously. I actually think sales might have gone up since he's been here. Apparently I needed a shop mascot without knowing I did."

At this, Lee looked up in alarm. "The shop isn't in trouble, is it?"

"What? No, I'm doing okay. Firmly in the black." Richard wondered, for the umpteenth time, why a virtual stranger seemed to have such a vested interest in this tiny bookshop run by a middle-aged bookseller and his cat. It was flattering, but also a bit bewildering.

"Okay, that's good, then. And I'm glad Ozzie here is doing his part." Lee tickled a loudly purring Oscar under his chin. "I have to ask, though - how do you take him home with you after you lock up for the night? Do you use one of those cat carriers, or do you put a leash on him or what? Inquiring minds need to know and all that jazz."

Richard smiled. "I, ah, actually don't have to take him anywhere. I live in the first floor apartment, just up the stairs, and Oscar has free roam of the premises."

"You live _here_?" With a last pat of Oscar's head, Lee got up and looked around him as if seeing the shop for the first time. "My God, Richard, you really do have it all, don't you?"

It was said without a trace of irony, wistfully almost, and Richard didn't quite know what to make of this sudden turn in mood. The man was usually such a ray of sunshine that it was hard to picture anything causing him dismay.

"I mean," Lee explained, with a shrug and an apologetic grin, "charming little bookshop, a cat sleeping on the windowsill, the world's shortest commute... do you know how many people would secretly trade their corner office for something like this in a heartbeat?"

Richard stared down at his feet, as always unsure how to react when Lee expressed envy or admiration for the simple life he led. Something in him just wanted to blurt out the truth - that the bookshop wasn't his accomplishment at all, that he'd just ended up here by chance and deserved none of the credit for its success - but damn it, he couldn't. Not without telling Lee who had owned the shop before he did and where he was now.

Emotionally, he just couldn't go there still.

"Hey - you OK?" Lee's concerned voice trickled through, bringing him back to the present. "Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

Richard shook his head and mustered a smile to reassure Lee he'd done nothing wrong. "No, Lee, don't worry. I feel obliged you inform you, though, that owning a business is hard work. Like I said, I don't get a lot of time off and I make long days. I know it all seems very romantic, but- it can get lonely at times." He blushed at the confession. Shit - he hadn't meant to get quite that confidential. The last thing he wanted was to throw some kind of pity party to the guy he quietly admired.

"Yeah, I'm sure it can," Lee said thoughtfully. Thankfully, he didn't seem put off by Richard's unprompted admission, and a moment later his face brightened again. "Hey, wanna know what I think? I'd bet my last penny that Oscar showed up because he sensed that you could use some company and affection too. They say cats sometimes choose their people, right? I think that's why Ozzie came here - because he chose you."

Richard smiled, something warm and soft unfurling inside his chest at Lee's childlike naivety. (He wasn't too sure about Lee's nickname for Oscar, and he wasn't sure feline company trumped the human variety either, but damn if he was going to be a sourpuss and actually say that out loud.) "You could be right."

"I know I am," Lee said confidently, and he bent down to stroke Oscar affectionately. "Good boy, Ozzie. From shaggy stray to shop mascot - you've really struck it lucky. You gotta give this guy lotsa lovins, okay?"

" _Mrow_ ," Oscar said, and it sounded like such an indignant, human response that they both laughed.

Laughter, Richard found, was one of Lee's constant companions, and it was hard not to miss it once he left.

The next year, Lee brought Richard another souvenir from his travels, this time from Japan - a _maneki neko_ figurine that fit in the palm of his hand - and a little toy mouse for Oscar to chase and play with. The year after that, it was a soft jingly ball for Oscar and a traditional wooden _Wetterhäuschen_ from Germany for Richard. (Lee got a good giggle out of saying that word - _Wetterhäuschen_ \- and explained that it worked as a hygrometer. "The woman comes out in sunny weather, the man when it rains, make of that what you will.") The piece was hand-painted and clearly the product of artisanship, not a cheap knockoff - the little shutters on the windows could even open and close - and Lee had obviously spent quite a bit more money on it than Richard felt comfortable with, but he accepted the gifts in baffled gratitude, always wondering why Lee was so kind to him. And so his collection of keepsakes grew, enjoying pride of place on a wall shelf behind the counter where he kept a jar of biscuits for his little customers and various other knickknacks. It gave him something to look at and smile about during the rest of the year, and every now and then he got to daydreaming about the places Lee might be traveling to and the stories he would have to tell when he came back in December. Richard loved to listen to Lee telling stories, loved the enthusiasm in his voice and the way his eyes and face came alive when he happily chatted away about his trips and the adventures he'd had making them.

That year - the year of the weather house - Lee spent a blissful two and a half hours in the shop, reading _Nicholas Nickleby_ in his favorite chair by the window with a sleepy Oscar curled up on his lap. Richard always tried to find books that would make Lee forget the time and _Nicholas Nickleby_ did the job adequately, as it was almost closing time when Lee suddenly (and regretfully, it seemed) closed the book and made the dreaded announcement that he must be heading off. ("I'll be taking this too," he said, holding up the bulky Dickens.)

As he was about to leave, the usual bag of purchases in hand, he paused at the door and looked around as though contemplating something. "You know, you should really hang a mistletoe up here."

"Why the bloody hell would I do that?" Richard deadpanned. He did decorate the shop for Christmas, but sparsely and meticulously tastefully, always cautious not to overdo it with the frills and garlands. A bookshop was like a temple, after all, and dancing Santas and flickering neon lights had no place in a temple.

Lee giggled, a sound Richard was completely enamored with. "Because! It'd be fun. People like that stuff."

"I hate to tell you this, Lee, but mistletoe is purely an American thing."

"Oh fuck off, don't play the old world snob with me," Lee teased. "And it's not. It's folklore. Everyone knows what to do when they see a mistletoe."

"Exactly. And I'm not sure what makes you think I want to watch kissing people all day long, to be honest."

"Because," Lee patiently explained, "kisses are sweet. The world needs more kissing. You may even get a couple yourself, and what's wrong with that?"

 _Is that a promise?_ It almost slipped out, but Richard was able to stop himself just in time. Even as a joke, that just wouldn't do. "I'm too old for such things," he said instead, evasively.

"You're never too old for such things," Lee said, surprisingly seriously, and he looked at Richard with something in his eyes that Richard could not name (not pity, thank God, Richard didn't think he could bear pity) and shit, this was touching on things that didn't want to be touched, things old and buried that were better left in peace.

"I'll think about it," he murmured, hoping his half-hearted promise would satisfy.

"Okay, good." In that moment, Lee had hesitated in the doorway, and against his better knowledge Richard had dared to hope that he might not leave after all, that he would close the door again and slide the latch in place and _stay_ \- even if it was just for another hour, or twenty minutes, or even five.

So long as he stayed.

But in the end Lee did leave, the way he always did, with a little smile over his shoulder and a duck of his head to avoid hitting it, because properties built in the 1840's were never meant to accommodate people like Lee, who was uncommonly tall even for modern standards.

"Merry Christmas, Richard."

Richard smiled back. What else could he do? What could he _say_? Certainly not the truth of what he felt. He was lucky to get as much of Lee's limited time in London as he did - he had no right to claim more.

"Merry Christmas, Lee."

Another year had passed since then, and even though Richard hadn't taken Lee's suggestion regarding the mistletoe too seriously at the time, partly because it chafed against the principles he adhered to when it came to running a respectable shop, once it came time to bring out the box of decorations again Richard found the idea didn't offend him as much as it used to. Apparently he was a soft touch when it came to Lee, and the prospect of seeing Lee's smile when he spotted the mistletoe was worth more than any silly principle. So he'd caved and put up the mistletoe, and damn if Lee hadn't been right about how people would respond to it, couples of all ages and orientations using the opportunity for a smooch. One that had stuck in Richard's mind especially was a middle-aged gay couple in matching windbreakers that had shared a little kiss in the doorway and walked out hand in hand.

To Richard, seeing those two men be affectionate with one another brought home just how much the world had changed since he and Guy defiantly walked down the street hand in hand, an incendiary act in that day and age. Guy had already started losing weight by then, which even in progressive London had been cause for passers-by to give them a wide berth (in the best case) or hurl homophobic slurs at them, each more derogatory than the next. ("Won't be long now before you look like a walking corpse just like your cocksucker boyfriend, faggot," Richard remembered one older man hissing at him. It wasn't long after that that Guy had stopped appearing in public.)

So yes, the mistletoe had been an unequivocal success. But as the weeks of December passed, no Lee had walked through the door. And now it was Christmas Eve once again and it was time to accept that he wasn't going to come at all and Richard could only wonder as to why; he hadn't heard from Lee at all, not even a line on a postcard to explain his absence. Richard found he felt unreasonably bitter about that and did his best to remind himself that at the end of the day, Lee was just a customer like any other and didn't owe him shit.

Here was the thing, though - Richard hadn't thought of Lee as any other customer, and to pretend otherwise would be pointless. Foolishly or not, somewhere along the line he must have started thinking of Lee as a friend, because surely he wouldn't be feeling so utterly disconsolate (and take his feelings out on an innocent twig) right now if he hadn't.

"Looks like it's just you and me again this Christmas, mate," he told Oscar as he folded up the ladder. Oscar, who had been dozing on the rug by the stove since the last customer left - formally, the shop had closed almost an hour ago, but Richard had been dragging his feet, trying to convince himself that Lee would still come, that maybe he was jetlagged and had the times confused and didn't realize how late it had gotten - slowly unfolded his limbs and got up, stretched himself at his leisure and yawned as he did so. In spite of everything, the cat's complete indifference to his misery put a smile on Richard's face, albeit a wry one.

"I guess I should have known better than to expect sympathy from one of your kind." He put the ladder away and knelt to pet Oscar, who purred deep in his chest to express his approval.

 _What a blessing to be a cat_ , Richard mused. Cats took everything at face value. They didn't care about Christmas. They didn't pine for unattainable smiley Texans with a big heart and a kitschy taste in souvenirs. As long as they had their very basic needs met and a warm lap to curl op on, life was good. For a lonely small business owner with no family and very few friends to call his own, things were quite a bit more complicated than that. He supposed he could go out tonight, have a pint at one of the pubs and see if anyone there caught his eye - but he hadn't shown his face in any of the local watering holes in ages and he knew he wouldn't do so now.

It was better to just accept it. He was past fifty, with too much baggage, and he'd simply missed his chance.

"Are you hungry, old chap? Come on, let's get you some dinner."

"Mrow," Oscar agreed happily, the little bell on his collar jingling as he raced up the stairs for a festive dinner of tuna, while Richard reluctantly heaved himself to his feet with a groan and followed him. _There's always EastEnders_ , he thought sullenly. _EastEnders and booze, what more does a single bloke need on Christmas Eve?_

Tonight, he decided, was definitely a good night to hit the sauce, and hit it as hard as he needed to to pass out and sleep through as much as Christmas as he bloody well could manage.

_2017  
_

The following year, Richard took the unprecedented step to cancel all his newspaper subscriptions, only scanning the headlines once a day to stay informed. British politics depressed him (Brexit was a sham, God, how the people responsible for that debacle still dared to show their faces on TV was utterly beyond him), US politics possibly even more so. Other than that, his days passed in much the same way as they had for the past twenty-eight years (sometimes that number completely baffled him, bloody hell, had he really lived this long?). After getting up and going about his morning routine, he'd be downstairs twenty minutes before opening time to boot up the register and make a round with the duster to make sure everything was pristine and in place. There'd usually be a steady trickle of customers coming in throughout the day (rainy days were good for business, Mondays were always slow), he'd restock, make calls to suppliers and place orders, price tag the new arrivals, sell yet another copy of _Fifty Shades of Grey_ (yes, he'd read it, just to see what all the fuss was about, but when asked if he recommended it he'd avoid answering - hetero sex bored him half to death, even the kinky variety, but he couldn't go and tell customers that, could he?), go back to price tagging, and so on. At closing time, he'd empty the register and put the cash in the night safe and lock up for the night, only to do it all over again the next day.

He didn't mind the monotony of his life, he really didn't, and he didn't like to complain about the repetitive tasks that made up his daily routine. He took pride in the shop and how well it did, he was fond of London and the Londoners. He couldn't think of any place he'd rather be than here, in South Kensington, his adopted stomping ground. He could spend the rest of his days here until retirement, hopefully pass on the shop to someone who could carry it on and wouldn't turn it into a curry place, and go sit in a park somewhere and feed the pigeons.

He could easily picture the winter of his life playing out like that, and he should count himself lucky if it did. Lots of people had it worse. He only had to take the tube to Camden to see some poignant examples and be reminded how good he really had it.

But he wasn't happy. He could count his blessings and reason with himself all he wanted, at the end of the day, when he lay in bed with Oscar curled up at his feet, the loneliness of his existence would come crashing down on him and make him despair at how precious little his life had meant. How long it had been since he felt the touch of another, felt like he mattered to someone, other than as a purveyor of books and stationery. His life moved along a flat line, with very few highs or lows to mark the relentless march of time or to bring some color to the shades of grey that made up his life.

Until one morning, approximately one week before Christmas, Richard was in the back of the shop checking supplies when the chime of the shopkeeper's bell announced a customer. "Be right with you," he called distractedly, jotting down a series of numbers before they slipped from his mind.

"Take your time," answered an amused voice, American accent, and Richard's heart promptly stood still. With no concern for his dignity, he dropped what he was doing and rushed out front, notebook and pencil still between his fingers, and fuck if it wasn't Lee standing there, tall and beautiful and bronze-skinned (how the hell did he do that, how did he get tanned like that in the middle of bloody winter?) and smiling like he'd never been gone. "Hey. Guess who's back in town?"

Richard actually had to grip the edge of the counter for support, so great was the shock of seeing Lee again. After the previous year's non-show, he'd done his best to banish Lee to the fringes of his mind, because he had begun to suspect that Lee and his growing existential ennui were alarmingly intertwined somehow, and he honestly hadn't thought Lee would still remember to visit him after two whole years had passed, even if he was in the area.

"Shop looks good," Lee commented conversationally, but his smile faded as Richard slowly lowered himself into the nearest seat, too stunned still to do anything but gape at Lee like he was a paranormal apparition. "Hey - are you okay?"

"You didn't come," Richard croaked, shaking his head in disbelief. He noticed his hands lying in his lap like grotesque dead things, and he curled his fingers to get the blood flowing again. He turned his gaze up at Lee, who was looking more confused and alarmed by the second. "Last year, I hung up a mistletoe, like you said. For you, I did that. But you never came."

Lee's face fell at that, and Richard wanted to kick himself for being such a knob head. Damn it, that came out sounding way too accusatory and bitter, what was he thinking speaking to a patron like that? Where did he get off making Lee feel bad about something as inconsequential as a missed visit when Lee couldn't possibly begin to fathom how much those precious few hours meant to Richard?

"I mean," he stammered, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I'm just so used to you dropping by every December and when you missed last year, I was worried."

"You were?"

Richard nodded uncertainly, relieved that Lee didn't seem offended. Just puzzled, clearly, by the nature of Richard's reaction. "I don't have a lot of friends," he heard himself dolefully saying, "and, uh- damn it."

He cringed and curved in on himself, mortified by the things that came tumbling out of his mouth against his better judgment, and he stared hard at the floor with only one objective in mind: to blink back the tears of frustration welling up in his eyes before Lee could see them.

"Shit, Rich, I'm sorry." Lee sounded genuinely contrite, which made Richard feel even worse, and once he dared sneak a glance up at Lee he was surprised to see that like him, Lee was blushing. "Unfortunately I couldn't make it to Europe last year, it was my parents' ruby wedding anniversary and they were adamant that we all join them in Colorado for a family holiday in the snow. I mean, we had a brilliant time, but London sort of fell through the cracks there."

"Please, Lee, you don't need to explain-"

"Yeah, I do." Lee came closer, pulling up a chair. "May I?" When Richard just nodded, speechless, Lee sat down so they were at the same level. "I do need to explain, because I clearly upset you and that was never my intention. I could've picked up the phone or sent you a postcard from Colorado even to let you know where I was. I guess it just never occurred to me that you'd notice or care that I wasn't there. I mean, you get so many customers..."

 _But not many like you_. Richard bit his lip before that dangerous truth could spill out, too.

Suddenly Lee smiled, a shy smile Richard hadn't seen from him before, and he rephrased, "I guess it never occurred to me that you thought of me as a friend. Is that really true?"

After a moment's hesitation, Richard nodded. "I'm sorry, it was unprofessional to blurt it out like that. I'm pretty horrified."

"No, don't be. Don't apologize." Lee reached out and touched Richard's knee briefly, a reassuring touch Richard felt through his slacks long after it had gone. "It's sweet and I'm flattered. Genuinely am. And I feel terrible for leaving you in the lurch last year and I want to make it up to you. So here's what we're gonna do. You close at eight, right?"

Again Richard nodded, unsure as to where this was going. The glimmer of excitement in Lee's eye was intriguing, though.

"Right. So I'll pick you up at eight sharp and take you out for drinks. No, let's make that dinner, because I assume you'll be hungry, yeah? Sound good?"

"Please, Lee, it's fine, I was being silly anyway, you really don't have to-"

"Richard," Lee interrupted him gently, "let me take you out for a night on the town. I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to. Please don't turn me down?"

His smile was open and disarming, and suddenly it dawned on Richard that he truly meant what he said. "Okay, I guess," he stuttered, cringing at how unenthusiastic that sounded. _Let's try that again, shall we?_ "Actually, I'd love to."

Lee laughed, a warm sound that made Richard forget his mortification in an instant. Lee had such a natural way of putting him at ease without even trying. "Good."

That evening, true to his word, Lee turned up at eight to collect Richard for dinner, hanging back and cuddling with Oscar as he waited for Richard to finish up. They took the tube (South Kensington Station was right across the street) and got off at Notting Hill, at which point Lee revealed that he'd booked them a table at The Churchill Arms, one of London's most recognizable and eccentric pubs and famous - among other things - for its Thai kitchen. "It just seemed like a really weird place," Lee explained his choice. "I've been looking for an excuse to check it out for ages."

The locale certainly didn't disappoint ("It looks like Santa threw up on this place!" Lee enthused) and neither did the steaming bowls of Thai and pints of ice cold lager that were brought over within twenty minutes of them sitting down. Lee, with his charm, had secured them one of the coveted tables near the fireplace, and even though Richard himself might have gone for one of the more private booths in the back, he felt pretty damn comfortable where he was. "So you've never been here before?" Lee resumed a conversation they were having earlier as they dug into their curries and pad thai. "I figured you might at least have grabbed a pint or two in here."

"You live in New York," Richard pointed out, "but have you ever spat from the top of the Empire State Building?"

"Sure I have," Lee replied with a mischievous grin. "I started out as a tourist there too. School trip 1993, picture forty fifteen-year-olds running amok in the streets of New York and five teachers desperately trying to get us interested in the museums. It's probably not a fair comparison, though. London has a pub on every street corner. I guess even people who live here can't try them all."

"I'm not much of a pub goer, actually," Richard confessed. "There's been one in my own street for the past twelve years and I have yet to set foot in there."

"We'll have to make sure that you do, and soon," Lee said seriously, as if planning nights out together was something they did on the regular. Then again, maybe it would be from now on? Richard supposed anything was possible after tonight - provided Lee wasn't bored out of his mind halfway through and decided never to take on a charity case again. Sure, they had a love for books in common, but away from the safe environment of the shop, were they going to be able to sit across a table from each other for a couple hours and keep a conversation going once that one, safe topic was exhausted?

If nothing else, that night at The Churchill Arms proved that Richard's concern about these matters was entirely unfounded. Lee was an easy talker anyway, but he wasn't one of those people who loved to hear themselves talk. He had the rare ability to have an actual, meaningful conversation - one that went both ways - by showing a genuine interest in the other person as well, and Richard surprised himself with just how chatty he could be if the circumstances were right. (Those circumstances being a hot meal and a couple pints in his belly, a crackling fire nearby and a gorgeous guy with eyes to drown in sitting across the table.) They talked about family and Texas and New York and Richard's childhood in Leicester and his hardworking mum and his absentee dad and the fact that he was an only child and his moving to London for study purposes aged nineteen. Once they touched on that, though, he quickly steered the conversation back to Lee, asking about his trip to Colorado and smiling at the pictures Lee showed him on his mobile, including one of Lee spread-eagled on his back in the snow, skis sticking comically into the air. ("I fell on my ass a lot that week," Lee explained, "The kids thought it was hilarious. Have you ever tried it? Skiing I mean, not falling on your ass, because I wouldn't recommend that." Richard had to truthfully reply that he hadn't.)

It was by far the most enjoyable evening he'd had in years, and when it came time to get up and head back out into the cold, Richard did so only with the greatest reluctance, swaying on his feet a bit and having to let Lee assist him with his coat. The fresh air cleared his head, though, and they decided not to take the tube but to walk back to the shop via a detour through Kensington Gardens, which were all decked out with Christmas lights and offered a picturesque sight. To Richard, it was like walking in a lovely but rather surreal dream, were it not for the cold and the occasional bump of Lee's elbow against his as they walked side by side reminding him that he was very much awake.

"I love London," Lee said fondly, the unprompted statement rousing Richard from his introspective musings. "I've been here quite a few times now and I'm still discovering new things to love and enjoy about it. I think I might be hanging around a bit longer this time. A bit longer than the usual day or two, that is."

"Yeah?" Richard couldn't pretend his heart didn't do a quick somersault at that.

"Yeah. Actually - I was wondering about something."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I..." Lee slowed his step and then halted completely, prompting Richard to do likewise. Even in the semi-dark, only part of his face faintly lit by a nearby lamppost, he looked uncharacteristically shy. "Okay, here's what I was thinking. You know how you often say December is the busiest month at the shop? And you sometimes wish you had an extra pair of hands for when things get hectic?"

Richard nodded slowly, unsure as to where this was going. "I have been known to say that, yeah."

"Well... what if I helped you out for a bit?"

Richard gave him a blank stare of confusion, wondering if he'd heard right. "You? Help me out? At the shop?"

Lee shrugged and grinned. "Sure, why not? I could be your temp for the week. I'll sweep floors, make coffee, whatever you need. And after closing time we'll check out all the local pubs, how's that?"

Richard shook his head, completely baffled by Lee's offer. "But it's your holiday. Why in the world would you want to spend it working for me when you can do so many other things instead, like- go to a museum, or the theatre?"

Another shrug. "Because I've done the sightseeing thing loads of times, but I've never worked in a bookshop. It'd be a valuable new experience, you know, something to check off my bucket list. Plus, I still feel terrible about last year, so-"

"Lee, we've talked about this, you have nothing to feel guilty about, and I won't allow you to sacrifice your holiday for that reason."

"Sacrifice? You're being a bit dramatic, Richard." Lee considered for a moment. "Okay, how's this - it turns out my jackass friends are out of town this week and I will be bored out of my mind tramping the streets of London by myself, so I will go mad if you don't give me something useful to do with my time. Better?"

At this, Richard couldn't help but laugh. Lee was such a cheeky shit, but it was impossible not to be beguiled by him. "Marginally."

"So... what do you say?" Lee prodded. "Have I got the job?"

Lee in the shop every day for a whole week - Richard's heart pounded at the idea. Fuck, why was he even hesitating? "I insist on paying you."

"No, no pay." Lee shook his head decisively. "Just bed and board, if you'd be so kind as to put me up? I know I look quite big, but I fit pretty much anywhere, so a spot on your couch will do. The hotel I'm currently staying at is a pigpen, so I'll be out of there tomorrow anyway."

"Yeah, I... I think I can probably find some room for you," Richard said faintly, for which Lee rewarded him with one of those big, radiant beams.

"Great," he said happily, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and hopping from one leg to another. "Hey, I'm freezing my balls off here. Hash out the details over a cup of coffee at your place?"

So it was done, and while the coffee was brewing, Richard decided to uncork a bottle of grappa - which, in hindsight, may not have been the wisest idea, as they ended up drinking quite a bit more of that than they did of the coffee. On the other hand, tossing back shots of grappa and talking into the wee hours led to Lee crashing on Richard's couch that night, vehemently refusing to trade places and take Richard's bed as Richard offered. ("I told you, Rich," he insisted, "I'll be fine right here, I can sleep pretty much anywhere.") In the end, Richard put a blanket over him and staggered off to bed to pass out himself. Later that night, though, waking up with a bladder ready to burst and getting out of bed to relieve himself, he had to pause on the way to the bathroom and watch for a moment as Lee - _Lee_ \- slept soundly on the couch, only his head and one long, bare arm sticking out from under the blankets. Oscar had curled himself up near his feet, clearly having preferred the couch this night over Richard's bed.

"Traitor," Richard whispered, but he didn't mean it in the slightest. The scene before him made his heart feel unbearably full, and he wondered if this feeling was happiness. At the very least, it was an absence of loneliness, and for now that was enough.

The next morning Richard was up early again despite their late night of drinking, and he set the table with every appropriate item of food he could find before waking up Lee - who emerged from his makeshift bunk with an impressive case of bed head that made Richard go a little soft on the inside - and announcing there was fresh orange juice and coffee on the way. After breakfast, Lee took a cab to go check out of his hotel. He was back in less than an hour with his luggage to report for duty, and damn if he didn't look genuinely excited to be there. "Right, so... where would you like me to start... boss?"

If Richard was honest with himself, he had to admit that he had half expected Lee to lose interest after a day or two. He'd found through experience that outsiders often had an unrealistically romantic view of working in a bookshop and were usually disenchanted when reality turned out to be a lot less edifying than they'd thought - but Lee surprised him with just how easily he slotted into place, seemingly enjoying even the simplest and most mind-numbing of tasks. However, it was in his interaction with customers that Lee truly shone, as his outgoing nature made it easy for him to connect with just about anyone and Richard's regulars took to him immediately, some of them even expressing their disappointment when he informed them he was only staying a short time.

"Your new colleague is a charming lad," Graham, one of the neighborhood residents, commented to Richard one day when he came to pick up his daily newspaper.

Richard sighed and rolled his eyes. He and Graham were of an age, and Graham had been coming in the shop long enough for them to be on a first name basis and exchange the occasional gibe. Graham also knew Richard's situation more intimately than most. "Don't start with me, Graham."

"You don't think he's charming? My mistake, then."

"Bloody hell, what do you expect me to say? Yes, of course I agree with you, he wouldn't be here if he scared off the customers."

"I'm just making an unbiased observation and offering you my insights, free of charge."

"Thank you, I guess?"

"He's a good chap, seems like. Friendly. Good-looking, too."

"Believe me, that hasn't escaped my attention."

"Thought so." A triumphant grin spread across Graham's face, one that made Richard extremely wary as to what would come next. "You boning him? Because if not you definitely should be."

"I think I'll wisely choose not to comment on that." Richard had turned away then and pretended to be extremely busy with something, not because Graham's suggestion offended him in any way but because his face was engulfed by a fierce red blush Graham did not need to see. "And I would appreciate it if you refrained from sharing any other pearls of wisdom regarding this matter."

He didn't need Graham planting images like that in his head. Not least because his mind was doing a fine enough job conjuring them all by itself, and it took about every ounce of willpower he had not to dwell on them.

Lee was a friend, and should stay a friend. Nothing more.

He would be lying, though, if he said that sharing quarters with Lee that week didn't awaken something in him, didn't touch on some basic human needs that had gone ignored for many years - the need for companionship, a connection beyond a chat with a customer, something that had been lacking from his life for so long. If that week taught him anything, it was that he was, in the end, not the loner or hermit he publicly made himself out to be; he was simply a guy who had suffered a bereavement and thrown himself headlong into the job by way of self therapy - grief counseling in the 80s was not as widespread as it was today, and the task of finding an unbiased therapist willing to take him on dissuaded him from even trying - until he looked up and around years later only to find that everyone around him had paired off and started families and there he still was, left to wonder about what could have been.

Lee, blissfully unaware of the turmoil his presence unleashed in the privacy of Richard's mind, was his usual cheerful and sunny self that week, having quickly made himself at home in Richard's apartment and life. In a way, it was almost as if he'd never been not a part of it all. He was not a sloppy house guest and he cleaned up after himself, but he definitely was a presence that couldn't go unnoticed, in that he simply took up quite a bit of room physically, sang in the shower and talked rather a lot. He insisted he slept like a log on the couch and gave Oscar all the cuddles a cat could ask for. He took Richard out some nights as promised, but seemed to sense perfectly when Richard was too tired and needed a quiet night in. Those would be spent in a variety of ways: watching television, reading, playing board games (Lee almost always won at Yahtzee), drinking or having long, frank conversations about every topic under the sun. Those last two not seldom coincided, as Richard had discovered that the buzz of alcohol made him chatty and drinking in company obviously carried a risk that drinking alone didn't.

That knife cut both ways, though, as it was during one of those intense late-night talks that Lee confirmed in passing that he was, in fact, gay. Richard had wondered, but never straight out asked (God, the thought alone), just like he'd never straight out asked how long Lee actually intended to stay in London this time around, perhaps because ignorance was bliss in this case and Lee's departure was not something he liked to contemplate.

They'd been talking about pop culture, comparing the bands and TV shows they'd each grown up with and admired, when all of a sudden Lee sat up, cheeks flushed and eyes glittering as a result of the alcohol already in his system (not grappa this time but whisky, a Christmas gift from one of Richard's business relations). "Oh, hey, blast from the past - guess whose poster was on my bedroom wall when I was like ten, eleven years old? Think British, think Live Aid, think moustache."

"That's pretty much a dead giveaway, Lee," Richard deadpanned, "but I think a young lad could choose worse idols than Freddie Mercury."

"Ain't that a fact." Lee gave a dreamy grin, clearly revisiting some long-forgotten boyhood memory. "God, but I fawned over him. Really made me question my sexuality for the first time, come to think of it. I mean, he wasn't attractive in the classical sense of the word, but on stage he had a confidence and charisma that made him sexy, you know? Not to mention the voice. He was really my first celebrity crush." Lee reached for the whisky bottle to top Richard up, then himself. "Tell me yours?"

"First poster?" Richard had to dig deep for that one. "David Bowie, I think."

"Nice one." Lee gave him a speculative smile. "And first crush? Also Bowie?"

Richard blushed and immediately chastised himself for reacting this way. Christ, he was fifty-two; talking about his sexuality should be a little easier by now, especially to another gay man who'd gone through the same journey.

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything." Lee laughed, but not with malice; Richard didn't think he was even capable of that. "It's not like I'm surprised. I've had my suspicions about you."

"Yeah?" Richard couldn't help but be curious. "What gave it away?"

"You'll laugh if I tell you."

"Tell me anyway."

It was Lee's turn to look a bit sheepish. "Well, one of the biggest tip-offs was the Diana section, to be quite honest."

"Pardon?"

Lee played thoughtfully with his glass, and Richard tried not to get distracted by that, those impossibly long and elegant fingers stroking the glass and putting unwelcome thoughts in his head again. "Down in the shop, you have a display entirely dedicated to Princess Diana. It is rather big, and rather prominent, and rather reminiscent of a shrine to her memory."

Richard was genuinely confused. "I'm still failing to see the connection here. What does that have to do with my being queer?"

Lee shrugged and offered up an apologetic smile. "No offense, Rich, but I've only ever seen that sort of veneration for Diana from British gay men of a certain age. I mean, I'll be the first to admit I don't know squat about royalty, but it seems to be a bit of a trend, I've noticed. It's kind of baffling how alive and well Dianamania still is twenty years on."

Richard had never felt the age difference between Lee and himself more keenly than he did in that moment, and he considered his response carefully, knowing he had to tread lightly here to avoid straying into dangerous territory. "Well yeah, in the 80s and 90s she kind of was a big deal to a lot of people including many minorities, of which the gay community was one. Do you know why?"

Lee shook his head, and Richard took a bracing slug of whisky. "Because she was one of the first celebrities, if not _the_ first, to extend a hand, quite literally. It was the 80s and the AIDS epidemic was at its height and it was a really, really scary time to be gay, even in London. Or perhaps especially in London, where there was such a large community and promiscuity was rampant. I was in my early twenties, had done my fair share of fucking around myself, and everyone was scared out of their wits. The deaths were just relentless - every weekend at the clubs new rumors would be doing the rounds about people that we knew who had gotten the diagnosis. People that we knew who had died. It was a pretty terrifying tally to keep. And the media were right on top of it, fanning the flames with homophobic, scaremongering headlines about how we'd brought the wrath of God upon ourselves and basically had it coming. That we were being eradicated like rats for our sins. They called it 'the gay backlash', or 'the gay plague', and that shit was printed in the newspapers for everyone to read. Are you sure you want to hear more? Because you'll be here a while."

Lee nodded. He'd been quietly listening, clearly taken aback by the avalanche of words but enthralled at the same time. "Tell me more," he said, "please."

"Gays were treated like lepers and branded a threat to society. Not just by ignorant people in the street, either - even some healthcare professionals would refuse to treat gay patients if they could get away with it, whether they were infected or not. And when they did treat them, it was often from behind a plastic barrier. There was a lot of fear, fed by ignorance. The general public genuinely thought back then that you could contract HIV from a patient through casual physical contact, and I've heard AIDS patients describe the day they were diagnosed as the day people stopped touching them altogether. So it wasn't just a deadly disease but also an incredibly lonely one. It was disheartening, to say the least, seeing an entire community marginalized and collectively spat out by society like that on top of everything else.

"Anyway, it was around this time that the Princess of Wales started coming into her own in terms of being an outspoken advocate for various charities - not the safe, inoffensive charities the royals usually allied themselves with, but far more controversial causes. She was drawn to the outcasts of society, people who were suffering, the homeless, the handicapped, the ill. And the gay plight was something that resonated with her as well. Over the years she supported us both publicly and privately in various ways, but most famously she made a visit to the Middlesex Hospital here in London to open the UK's first AIDS ward in 1987, and of course wherever the Princess went, there were camera crews and photographers following her. Now, the Princess was extremely media-savvy and knew how powerful an image could be, so against all royal advice she shook the hands of all the patients and staff without gloves on and made sure she was filmed and photographed doing it, knowing full well that those pictures would be seen by millions of people. Knowing what we do now about AIDS, what she did may seem like nothing particularly special, but at a time when there were so many misconceptions about how the virus was transmitted, it was an incredibly brave and impactful thing to do. She was probably the most famous woman in the world at the time, and that one picture of her holding an AIDS patient's hand traveled the globe. It educated people, changed their mindset about the virus and people suffering from it, and that was exactly what she intended."

"I remember that picture." Lee nodded. "I probably saw it years after the fact, though, and I didn't appreciate quite how powerful it must have been at the time."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go off and lecture you like this," Richard said somewhat wearily. "But yeah, it really was that powerful. It was so incredibly rare to have someone like her, who was kind and charismatic and commanded global attention, stand up for our cause. She didn't have to do that, in fact she had advisors and people up on high advising her against it at every turn, but she was determined to make a difference, because she genuinely cared. God, I probably sound like such a sycophant, and I'd just like to state on the record that I don't actually consider myself to be a royalist - but if you wanted anyone championing for your cause at the time, it was her. What she did changed the conversation about HIV and AIDS, shattered the stigma. It was absolutely unprecedented. So yeah, to people like myself, who remember what things were like for us in the 80s, she is something of an icon."

"There's no need to apologize," Lee assured him, reaching across the table and covering Richard's hand with his own. It was warm and dry, and Richard found himself staring at those fingers again. He loved a nice set of hands on a man, and Lee's were more than nice. "I appreciate being educated and I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ridicule. Of course I kind of knew the timeline and how bad it must have been - hell, a lot of that homophobia also trickled down to my school and the slurs some kids threw around at the playground - but I was too young at the time to really get it, you know? It's just incredible to me that you were here, right in the thick of things, before I even had an inkling of what it meant to be gay in this world."

Richard smiled. "That's a tactful way of saying I'm an old geezer."

"Oh, fuck off!" Lee laughed. "No more talk of being old, because it's complete and utter bollocks. You're a good-lookin' man, Richard, and I bet you could still get all the boys at the club if you tried. I have a mind to take you there right now and prove it."

"Please, let's not." Richard blushed like a fiend at the compliment.

"Too rusty? Or just too chicken to find out?" Lee teased.

"Let's just go with 'too uncoordinated to be seen dancing in public'," Richard retorted, at which Lee laughed and thankfully didn't press the matter further. The thought of spending the rest of what had been a perfectly blissful evening at some club cruising men half his age was too mortifying for words.

He hadn't been entirely truthful, though. Once upon a time, he _had_ been a pretty decent dancer, or so at least Guy had told him. They'd first locked eyes at one of London's gay clubs, in the days of blissful ignorance before the epidemic grabbed headlines, flirting from a distance for a bit before Guy beckoned Richard on over to the bar and ramped the flirting up a couple notches over cocktails. Richard had just landed a promising job at an accounting firm a few months earlier, Guy was a bit older and had realized his dream of opening his own bookshop a few years prior. He was gorgeous - black hair, grey eyes, amazing body - and seemed completely mesmerized by the way Richard nibbled and sucked on the slice of orange that came with the cocktail. So before long Richard had taken his hand and led him through the crowd, to the back rooms where several pairs and groups of men were engaged in a variety of lewd acts, and got down on his knees to give him something even nicer to look at.

No, the follies of yesteryear were over and done with, and Guy, Richard had decided, wasn't someone Lee needed to know about, even if he had to tell the odd white lie to keep him blissfully in the dark.

It was ironic, then, that it was through his own carelessness that Lee picked up the trail by accident a few days later. It was nearing Christmas and Richard still had not dared to bring up the matter of Lee's departure, which surely must be imminent if he wanted to make it home in time to spend the holiday with his family. Lee, on his part, hadn't brought it up either, and at breakfast that morning he cheerfully suggested that he start the day by organizing the little office area behind the shop, as he had noticed that the room might benefit from a little TLC.

"Hey, if you're offering, I'm not going to say no," Richard shrugged, as always baffled by this man's willingness to take on the most tedious tasks with such indomitable enthusiasm. "I'll be the first to admit it is a bit of a tip back there."

After breakfast, Lee duly disappeared into the office while Richard ran things out front like always. Objectively, it probably went against all laws of common sense to let someone who wasn't formally in his employ have free reign of his office, but with Lee the matter of trust had long since been settled and the most confidential stuff was locked away anyway. Lee spent most of that morning excavating Richard's desk from under layers upon layers of old brochures, folders, invoices and the like, so engrossed in the task that he even forgot to come out for coffee, so Richard brought him some. "You're doing the Lord's work in here, Lee," he said, seeing the headway Lee was making.

Lee grinned at the compliment and reached out gratefully to take the coffee cup from Richard's hand, his fingers briefly brushing Richard's as he did so. He'd rolled up the sleeves of his wool sweater and his forelock was being particularly willful today, falling across his forehead in a boyish manner that made Richard yearn to run his fingers through that softness, slowly and reverently like the smitten old fool that he was. "Just trying to make myself indispensable around here so you won't want to let me go," he teased, and it took everything Richard had not to tell him just how good a job he was doing of that, his joke approaching the truth so closely that it chafed.

As the day went on, however, Lee's mood changed. He grew quieter, seemed preoccupied, and when it came time to close up for the night, he asked Richard if they could cancel their plans to go to the pub and stay in instead. "I'll cook dinner," he offered, to make up for the inconvenience of this last-minute cancellation.

Now, Lee made a mean garlic chicken stir-fry that Richard had lavished praise on before, but that night Lee ate with little gusto, chewing his food listlessly, and Richard spent most of that meal on tenterhooks, convinced Lee was about to drop the announcement that he was leaving. But it never came, and after they'd washed up, they both settled in for some quiet reading. Lee, however, seemed too restless to focus on _Anna Karenina_ for any extended amount of time, flipping back and forth between pages seemingly without absorbing any of it.

"Tolstoy not your thing?" Richard observed after a few minutes of this.

"Can't seem to get into it tonight." With a sigh, Lee closed the book and put it aside. "Hey, Richard?"

Unconsciously, Richard braced himself. _Here it comes_ , he thought miserably. "Yeah?"

"Can I... ask you something? Something personal?"

"Uh... Sure, I guess."

"When I was cleaning your office this morning, I found a picture." Lee spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "I wasn't snooping, I swear, but I was looking for a stapler and you were busy helping customers so I opened a couple drawers and there it was."

Richard held his breath. He knew exactly which picture Lee meant - there could really only be one - and he cursed himself for being so careless as to let something so private lie around like that. At the same time, though, resignation set in. Perhaps this had been inevitable all along. "I see."

"A picture of a handsome man in front of the shop. This shop. All smiles, looking proud. Hair teased up in that bouffant style that hasn't been seen since the 80s."

"I know the one."

"Who is he?"

Richard cleared his throat, slowly closing his book. "That's Guy."

"Guy." Lee bit his lip, and Richard could see him processing this information mentally, connecting the dots. " _The Book Guy_. This was his shop, wasn't it?"

Richard nodded. "Although it had a different name then. Opened in 1985."

Lee's eyes were solemn. "He died, didn't he?"

Again Richard nodded, not really surprised that Lee had put two and two together, and slowly the story began to trickle out of him. About the beautiful man he'd met at the club and the passionate romance they'd fallen into. About the little bookshop on Thurloe Street that was Guy's pride and joy and the Saturdays Richard had spent there helping out in his free time just to be near him. About the onset of the first symptoms in Guy and the terrifying wait for the diagnosis and the medical maelstrom they were catapulted into after, of tests and doctors and hospitals and more tests and blood transfusions and the crazy ever-changing cocktail of medications Guy had to take day after day, often with great reluctance and after much cajoling from Richard, who made him stick to the regimen with almost military discipline, coaxing and pleading and reasoning with him to take the damn pills, even when he felt miserable and nauseous and the physical act of swallowing was almost too much to ask of him.

"He tried to keep running the bookshop like he'd always had," he told Lee, who was listening quietly. "But he had to step back before he got too visibly ill to save the shop from going under. If word had got out that the owner had the 'gay plague', those loyal customers wouldn't have been so loyal after all and the shop probably wouldn't have survived longer than a couple months. In a way, it's a miracle it has endured this long."

"Because you carried it on," Lee said softly, and Richard shrugged.

"It was the only option that made sense at the time. Like myself, Guy had no immediate family, and selling the shop and the apartment to some stranger would've killed him before the virus did. So I did the only thing I could do - I quit my job to care for him and run things downstairs in his stead. When customers asked about him, I told them Guy was moving back to his home county of Northumberland to reconnect with his family. Once he became bedridden, I would constantly be going up and down those stairs between customers to check on him or just sit with him for a bit and read to him. He was terrified of dying, and I was the only one he wanted there with him once he started to deteriorate; he didn't want anyone else seeing him like that. In hindsight, I don't know how I kept the shop afloat during that time, or myself for that matter. In his will, he left the shop to me. He said he would understand if I sold it and went back to my old job after he died, but I promised him I wouldn't. It seemed more fitting to keep the shop the way it was, as a memorial to him. He seemed to like that idea. It gave him some peace, I think.

"Guy was a monarchist through and through, unlike myself. When he heard one day that Princess Diana would be opening an art exhibition a few streets away from here, he got a real bee in his bonnet about wanting to attend the bloody thing and meet her, I guess as a dying wish of sorts. I said absolutely not, because he was so unthinkably skinny and frail by then, but he wouldn't let it go, straight up begged me until I caved and promised him I would take him, provided he wasn't running a fever on the day. Because, you know, it was the middle of bloody winter and his immune system was all shot to hell and I thought the slightest breeze would kill him. I was worried he wouldn't even live long enough to see the day, because you never know when a patient is suddenly going to take a turn for the worse. But the big day finally rolled around and he was good to go, so I bundled him up in scarves and hats and whatnot, carried him down the stairs and put him in a wheelchair that I'd rustled up somewhere and off we went to see Diana. He'd written her a letter - that is to say, he'd dictated one and I wrote it down, because he could barely hold a pen at that point - and he was hellbent on giving it to her personally."

At this he paused, immersed in his memories of that day, until Lee asked, "And did he?"

"Yeah. She came out to greet the crowd, looking just stunningly beautiful and so elegant, you couldn't help but stare at her. Security had put Guy and I in front, on account of the wheelchair, and we'd been told the Princess wouldn't have time to do a walkabout, but I swear the second she came out, her eyes went straight to him. And of course she saw how poorly he was and came straight over and he sort of started crying and thanking her for everything she'd done for people like him. She had tears in her eyes, I think, and she got down to his level and gave him a big, careful hug. It was absolutely extraordinary. Guy was so happy." Richard smiled sadly. "It later turned out he caught pneumonia that day and he died a few weeks later, but he made me swear not to feel guilty about it. Said he wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"Jesus Christ." Lee leaned back heavily and ran trembling fingers through his hair. "Of course - from the way you were talking about it the other day, I should have guessed just how personal it was to you, but... my God, Richard, that's fucking heartbreaking. I'm so sorry you went through that, and at the same time I'm so in awe of you."

Richard frowned. "In awe? Why?"

"Why? Because you did an incredible thing! Quitting your job to nurse him, which is a daunting enough task in itself, and keeping the shop running on top of that when you were so young and must have been so terrified yourself. I mean, were you- did you-"

Richard nodded, knowing full well what Lee meant to ask. "Yes, I got tested immediately after his diagnosis and it came back negative. I don't know why I dodged the bullet when so many didn't; I certainly wasn't any holier than Guy or more deserving than any of the other poor blokes who wasted away. As for doing what I did - anyone with half a soul would have done the same thing. He had no one else, and what few specialized clinics there were at the time were bursting at the seams. He needed me and I had to be there for him, it's as simple as that."

"And who was there for you?"

"I-" The question caught Richard off guard. "I had the shop. Work kept me on my feet. Maybe it wasn't the best way to deal with my grief, but I dealt with it. The guilt was a different matter, though."

He was revealing far more than had been his intention, voicing thoughts that had only existed in the confines of his own mind until now. And yet he was surprised at how easily it came to him to trust Lee with these confessions. In a way, it was almost a relief to let these things out for the first time.

Lee's eyes filled with sad understanding. "You felt guilty about not getting sick when he did? Richard-"

"I know those things just happen for no reason," Richard said. "I know there's no point in looking for one. Believe me, I've had almost thirty years to think about these things and I could probably do so for another thirty without getting any answers."

"And you've been running the shop all this time." Lee shook his head incredulously. "Have you never had any doubts? Considered selling the shop and going back to your old field? Maybe not immediately but five, ten, twenty years down the road, I'd say you more than kept your promise."

Richard shrugged. "I don't know. I guess somewhere along the line, I just accepted that this is my life now, and it's not such a bad one all things considered. This job is a dream come true, didn't you say so yourself?"

"Is it _your_ dream, though, or Guy's?" Lee flushed a bit, and he reached out and touched Richard's arm to make it clear he meant no offense with that question. "Don't get me wrong, Richard, I think you're to be commended for honoring Guy's memory and keeping his legacy alive, and the shop wouldn't still be here today if you weren't doing a great job. But are you, deep down inside, truly happy doing it?"

"I have been this week." It slipped out before Richard could reconsider, yet another confession he hadn't meant to make, but he didn't care. Lee was going to leave anyway, the way he always did, so what did it matter how much he knew or didn't know? Suddenly he smiled, but it was a smile without humor. "You know what's ironic? I don't even know if Guy and I would still be together today if he hadn't died. I know that sounds awful, but- we just never got to find out. I only knew him healthy for a couple of months. At the time I was mad about him, though. I cared about him, loved him I think. I don't know - my feelings are all messed up with grief and guilt and have been for the past twenty-eight years. I'm not sure I know what love is supposed to feel like. Sometimes I think I wouldn't know it if it hit me like a ton of bricks."

"Shit, Richard, you're breaking my heart over here," Lee said, voice cracking, and Richard looked up, realizing that this evening had taken rather a glum turn. In a way, Lee's sympathy was like balm, like sunshine on cool skin, but he was afraid to bask in its warmth for too long.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to make this all about my sad story, but you saw the picture and drew your conclusions and, well... there it is. Now you know."

"I'm glad I do," Lee said softly, sincerely, "it's a lot to take in, but I'm grateful for being told. For being trusted. Thank you. I don't really know what else to say."

"You don't have to say anything else." Richard sighed and glanced at the clock. "Actually, I think I'm going to take a shower and then head off to bed, if you don't mind?"

"Are you okay?" Richard nodded. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Richard gave him a fatigued smile. "Just feeling a bit drained, is all. Hashing up all that ancient history does take it out of you. There's snacks and drinks in the fridge, so help yourself to anything you want, okay? And give _Anna Karenina_ another try. It's worth the effort, I promise."

"Okay," Lee said, his face brightening some. "Hey, don't forget - tomorrow is Sunday. Sleep in time."

"I'll do my best." Richard paused in the doorway and looked back at Lee, realizing that he was skipping out on what could very well be Lee's last night in London. "Lee?"

Lee looked up. "Yeah?"

Richard opened his mouth and shut it again, not even sure what he had been about to say. He just knew that there was something about the way Lee looked right now, sprawled on Richard's couch with his shoes kicked off, that warmed him on the inside. Something that he wanted to memorize. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Richard."

Taking a shower before bed was something Richard had always liked to do - it helped him sleep better, he'd found - and tonight he took more time for it than usual, letting the hot jets pound the tension from his neck and shoulders and thinking of Guy. Guy who had been dead for almost thirty years, Guy who had left such a deep mark despite being in his life for such a relatively short amount of time. Guy who had gotten a sort of peace and acceptance over him in those last few weeks of his life, despite the pneumonia racking his emaciated body, because a beautiful princess had hugged him and told him she would keep him in her thoughts and prayers.

And then he thought of Lee, who was very much alive and sitting in his living room right now and whom he had told things he hadn't told another living soul. All week long, he'd treaded a fine line with Lee, enjoying his company while trying at the same time not to let himself get too attached, not to fly too close to the flame, because one day soon Lee would call a cab and be on his merry way to the airport and Richard would be left with singed wings and a broken heart. And yet here he was, having done exactly that which he'd promised himself not to do, and all he could feel was relief. The human heart was a strange thing, and more resilient than the poets would have people believe. Well, it was a muscle after all - that was just basic anatomy - and muscles stretched. Muscles could heal from an injury. Richard's had already proven that.

By the time he crawled into bed, rosy and a bit raw from the hot shower, he was so sleepy that he didn't even bother to switch the bedside lamp on to read a bit before bed as he usually did. He could see a thin crack of light under the door of his bedroom - evidently Lee was still up. There was something strangely comforting about that faint stripe of light, though he couldn't have said what exactly and he wasn't granted much time to reflect on it, as Morpheus came for him almost the second his head sunk into the pillow.

He had confused dreams that night, disconnected scraps and bits of memories randomly weaved together like a string of beads with no clear context - featuring, among other disturbing images, a gaunt faceless man, thin and fragile like glass, his bones barely cushioned by fat or muscle, plainly visible under papery and veiny skin. For all his gauntness, however, he felt unnaturally heavy in Richard's arms, his weight pulling him down, forward, upsetting his balance. When Richard tripped and fell down the stairs, feeling that body of glass slip from his arms, he jolted awake before he could watch it shatter into a thousand pieces upon impact, his stomach already twisting in anticipatory revulsion and only settling after several minutes. With wide open eyes he lay staring into the dark, trying to get his sense of orientation and reality back. _That's what you get for raking up the past_ , he thought once his pulse slowed and rational thought returned to him. His legs were caught and tangled in the sheet, the flannel of his pajama uncomfortably hot against his skin. His tongue felt like a dry sponge in his mouth, and he tried to work up some saliva to get it unstuck from the roof of his mouth. It wasn't usual for him to have dreams this lifelike, and probably a good thing too.

That unmistakable feeling of pressure between his legs was pretty rare too, come to think of it.

_What the bloody fuck? How did he have a boner after a dream like that?_

Bewildered, with a sense of timidity unbefitting a 52-year-old, he slipped his hand into his pajama bottoms to curl hesitant fingers around the stiff rod it found in there. He was tragically out of practice - he'd been celibate for so long that his sex drive had sort of fizzled out from disuse and gone dormant - but his cock jumped eagerly to meet his touch all the same, so he gave it a couple of tentative strokes, thumbing the tip and toying with the foreskin. It felt... unexpectedly good, and it distracted him from the dream, so he kept doing it, closing his eyes to replace the skeletal man haunting his thoughts with Lee - lanky Lee with the messy hair, Lee with the legs that went on forever and the boyish smile and the lovely eyes, just _Lee_ \- which was a startlingly easy thing to do. His breathing sped up, and he was suddenly in a hurry to push his bottoms down, flipping onto his back and spreading his legs for better leverage. He tried various different paces, lifting his hips off the bed and rapidly pumping the slick head of his cock for a quick and satisfying orgasm - he didn't have the luxury of patience.

And then - he didn't know why, maybe his ears somehow picked up a sound that shouldn't have been there - he opened his eyes and realized there was a figure standing in the doorway, still and quiet.

Richard froze immediately, although he couldn't help jerking his hand away as if he'd burned himself. For how long had Lee stood there? Did he know what Richard had been doing? Had he _seen_? The mere thought set his face alight, his heart pounding in his throat so loudly that he was sure Lee would be able to hear it all the way across the room, and yet he didn't move, just stood there, silent. Richard was afraid to do so much as breathe, worried the slightest move or peep would give him away.

And then - oh _shit_ \- Lee came into the room, carefully navigating the creaking hardwood floor as he approached the head of the bed. The silence became unbearable, and Richard gave up any pretence of sleep. Thank God his lower torso was covered by blankets that hid the robust erection curving up hot and angry against his stomach. Astonishingly, even the ill-timed interruption couldn't get it to flag.

"Lee?" he asked uncertainly, puzzled by Lee's quiet approach. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I... I can't sleep," Lee replied in an odd voice Richard almost wouldn't have recognized. This whole situation was surreal.

"Me neither. I mean, I could, I was, but- I had a dream," Richard rambled nonsensically. Sexual arousal still coursing through his veins made stringing a coherent sentence together difficult, but at the same time, concern set in. Lee wouldn't have come into his bedroom at this hour of the night if something wasn't wrong. "Are you cold? Shall I bring you an extra blanket?"

Exactly how he was going to manage getting up and fetching a spare blanket from the cupboard in his current state was a concern for later.

Slowly, Lee shook his head. He seemed to hesitate, albeit briefly, before lifting up the sheet and sliding under it, into the bed with Richard, who could only stare a him in utter shock and confusion over this bizarre turn of events.

"What are you doing?"

Still giving no response, Lee bit his lip - almost nervously, it seemed - and Richard felt raw lust spike through him anew. God, but that man had a sinful mouth on him. And the heat of his body - so close, so maddeningly close all of a sudden - made it damn near impossible to breathe.

Then, even more perplexingly, Lee reached up to gently touch Richard's face, tracing his cheekbone with one finger and then slowly sweeping lower, stroking against the grain of his stubble to end at his mouth. His face was right over Richard's, eyes gazing down at him speculatively, earnestly, and Richard released a shaky breath, perhaps the first in minutes.

"I really want to kiss you," Lee murmured. "Will you let me?"

"Kiss me?" Richard croaked, blinking incredulously, to which Lee nodded. He licked his parch dry lips. "Yeah, okay."

God, what a stupid response, and not even remotely expressing the enthusiasm he felt about what Lee was suggesting (even if it was tempered by shock and the rapidly growing suspicion that he must still be dreaming), but to Lee, it didn't seem to make the slightest difference. He leaned down and slowly pressed his mouth to Richard's, pulled away to survey his face for a second and then went back in for more, clearly encouraged by what he'd seen. The next kiss was a little more deliberate than the first, a little more wet too, and Richard felt Lee's fingers cup his jaw as he gave a tentative little flick of his tongue against the seam of Richard's mouth. It was only then that Richard remembered to open his mouth a fraction, his head almost exploding when Lee took his bottom lip between his and gently licked his tongue inside, and he whimpered helplessly at this onslaught of long-forgotten sensations.

"Shh, shh, easy," Lee soothed, pulling away a bit to drop kisses on Richard's face before returning to his mouth again, like he couldn't stay away. His kisses tasted of mint, from his toothpaste, and of all things sweet and wonderful. Moreover, he was kissing Richard like he could do this a while, setting a slow pace, but Richard was on fire already, almost painfully aroused, his cock throbbing impatiently against his stomach with every exploratory press of Lee's tongue. "Still okay?" Lee checked, and Richard nodded, speechless, still disbelieving what was happening. "Can I look at you?" His fingers appeared at the collar of Richard's pajama top and started working their way down the front, parting the fabric button for button and pushing the flannel aside to expose flushed skin and a laboring chest. "Richard?"

Richard grappled to find his voice, realizing that his consent had stuck in his throat along with his breath. " _Please_ ," he managed to whisper, closing his eyes as Lee's fingers mapped a path across his chest, soon joined by his mouth. His heart was racing, thundering in his ears and, yes, in his cock too, the pressure in his balls damn near unbearable, but he kept his hands curled up into fists by his sides, convinced that he would explode at the slightest touch.

"Sweet," Lee breathed, flicking his tongue at Richard's navel and then kissing his way back up to visit his mouth again. The kiss tasted different this time, of salt and musk and something earthy. It was even better, he thought. "You're so sweet, Richard, so lovely. You can touch me too, if you want."

Richard did, hesitantly lifting his hand to run unsure, trembling fingers through Lee's hair. It felt wondrously soft. "Like this?"

"However you want." He kissed him again, slow and quite wet, and Richard was starting to remember how this was done, or at least his body was, pressing up to meet Lee in the act, guide him closer and invite him in. He could have wept, it felt so good, and he whined plaintively when Lee pulled back to look at him as he slid his hand downward, across Richard's stomach and underneath the blankets. He did so slowly, eyes trained on Richard's face to look for any sign of discomfort or alarm, and when Richard didn't object, went back in to kiss him again. He didn't seem the least bit surprised to find Richard's pajama bottoms hanging low on his thighs or his cock desperately hard, which could only mean that he _had_ seen what Richard had been doing before, but the surge of embarrassment Richard felt at that realization lasted about as long as it took for Lee to push the blankets down to expose his cock and gently wrap his fingers around its length. Richard practically sobbed, hips twitching up of their own accord. He had never felt so naked, or so helplessly aroused.

"Easy," Lee murmured, low and reassuring, and with an edge of want Richard was almost sure he hadn't imagined. "You're a beautiful man, Richard." Richard just stared up at him, too stunned by all this to acknowledge the sincere compliment. And then the power of coherent speech promptly left him as Lee curled his hand into a fist around his cock and slowly began to work him over.

"Fuck," he gasped, "oh, fuck, _Lee_ ," his fingers scraping Lee's scalp as he gripped his hair and pulled him down to his mouth with a needy whimper. Lee responded eagerly to the invitation, their mouths making obscene sloppy noises as they met in another urgent kiss and it was heaven and Lee's hand was pumping him steadily and he wanted to _die_ and-

"Please, more... faster," he begged, and Lee complied immediately but only for a moment or two, easing off when he felt Richard getting dangerously close. He did this a few times, to Richard's mounting despair, but his moans and whimpers of protest seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"I want to taste you," Lee informed Richard thickly, kissing him before leaning up to gauge his reaction. Richard stared back, dazed, grappling to comprehend. Some of the spell lifted and common sense crept back in, reminding him why this was such a spectacularly bad idea. "You- you don't have to do that."

"I want to," Lee insisted. He let go of Richard's cock for a moment to slip his hand between his legs and squeeze his balls instead. "I want to know the feeling of your cock inside my mouth. Taste you on my tongue when you let it all go."

How Richard managed not to come right there and then, he would never know. "I- I won't last long."

Lee laughed softly as he scooted down Richard's body. "I don't care. We've all had those high-pressure situations. Nothing to be ashamed about." He grasped Richard's cock again and angled it up to expose his balls, flicking his tongue against the root. Richard gasped at the unexpected feeling, grabbing a fresh handful of Lee's hair with an urgency that made Lee stop and look up with questioning eyes. "Something wrong? Richard, if you don't want this, please say so. I won't do anything you don't want."

"I want _you_ ," Richard blurted, grateful for the fact that it was dark and Lee wouldn't be able to see the blush engulfing his face. They were three words he'd never thought he'd say out loud one day, and the fact that it was to this gorgeous younger man whose head was between his legs utterly defied belief. "I do, more than you know, but..."

"But?" Lee gently prompted when Richard stranded in the middle of his sentence. There was something in him that balked at the idea of baring his soul like this, but - oh, to hell with it.

"But I don't want your pity."

At this, Lee's smile melted away, an expression of dismay taking its place. "My what?"

 _You just had to go and ruin it_ , Richard lamented inwardly. "You shouldn't feel sorry for me," he explained miserably, "or feel obliged to fix me. I-"

"That's what you think - that this is about pity?" Lee said incredulously. "My God, Richard, you have no idea, do you?"

Richard blinked at him uncertainly. "No idea about what?"

"You have no idea that I've wanted to do this for ages. Long before today. Before this week, even." Lee gave him a surprisingly shy smile. "I was just too chickenshit to act on it because... you gave off such an unavailable vibe. I was never really sure how you felt. Knowing what I do now, well... that just made me want to do this even more. Like I said... You are a very sexy man, Richard."

Richard's head spun, refusing to accept what Lee was telling him without argument. "I'm fifty-two."

"So you've told me." Lee dipped his head lower, tongue flicking out to lick Richard's balls. "And?"

Richard groaned, not even sure what point he'd been trying to make. "What about protection?"

Lee must have expected the question, and he answered earnestly. "I get tested for work regularly and I'm neurotic about condoms. Never fuck without. You?"

A sour smile twisted Richard's mouth. What was he supposed to say to that? That he hadn't had sex in a million years and was practically a born-again virgin? Lee might laugh at him. "I haven't slept with anyone since Guy."

He wanted to bite his traitorous tongue off, but Lee didn't so much as crack a smile, just nodded. He had probably already suspected. "I don't know why I'm scared," Richard whispered.

"It's okay to be scared," Lee said, reaching for Richard's free hand and threading their fingers together reassuringly, "but I've got you. I would never do anything to hurt you, Richard."

The sweet, sincere vow obliterated the last of Richard's resistance and he nodded surrender, watching, mesmerized, as Lee expertly stroked him back to full hardness while his mouth did wicked things with his testicles and then went down on him slowly, patiently and in no rush at all to make Richard come, proving Richard quite wrong about how long he'd thought he was going to last (even though he didn't chalk that up to his own stamina so much as to Lee's skill). He still came way too quickly, though, grunting a warning out of courtesy which Lee ignored, stroking and sucking him through his orgasm and moaning quietly with satisfaction as Richard bucked and cried out and felt his seed leave him.

Afterwards he collapsed, boneless and panting harshly, the rasping undignified noises issuing from his throat gradually turning into sobs and yes, he was definitely crying, God, how was that for a turnoff? But he was just so overwhelmed by what had just happened and he couldn't seem to stop it anyway and there was nothing for it but to let this storm of emotions run its course. Lee didn't seem the least bit fazed by the sobs racking Richard's body, and he settled down next to Richard and pulled the blankets up over them and held him in his arms protectively, rocking and soothing him and stroking his hair until he calmed down. And Richard, well, Richard just gave up the fight and melted into that embrace uninhibitedly, sniffling into the firm pillow that was Lee's shoulder and trying his best to crawl into him, so good did it feel just to be held by a warm, breathing, living body.

Exhausted, he must have fallen asleep pretty soon thereafter - a dreamless sleep this time, thank goodness - only to lurch awake the next morning with a heavy feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, the room bathed in pale morning light and the place in the bed that Lee had occupied earlier now empty, with only a suggestion of body warmth still lingering in the sheets. It seemed to confirm the worst of Richard's fears.

_He's gone. He's packed his bags and snuck out at the crack of dawn to catch a flight. He'll be on his way to the airport right now._

Barely had the thought crossed his mind or Richard shook his head. No, Lee wouldn't do that. He wouldn't just up and leave without at least saying goodbye.

But oh, that niggle of doubt in the back of his head. If last night had truly happened - and Richard was almost sure that it had - the old rules established over the course of their friendship no longer applied. After all, how could things still be the same after such an erotic encounter? Maybe that blow job had been Lee's way of saying goodbye. A charitable act despite Lee's assurances to the contrary. A parting Christmas gift.

Wide awake now, Richard grabbed his glasses and scrambled out of the bed in a panic, pulling up his pajama bottoms and tying them at the waist so they wouldn't fall off his ass again as he stumbled into the living room, his eyes instinctively going to the couch that had been Lee's bed this week. It was all made up and mockingly empty, and Richard stared at it forlornly, feeling his heart drop to the floor and shatter into a million pieces. He really hadn't thought that Lee-

"Hey, good morning."

His head swiveled to the left, to where the greeting had come from, and there was Lee, standing at the kitchen counter with Oscar slinking around his ankles, meowing plaintively for a taste of whatever he was making. Lee was dressed in his pajama bottoms and one of his comfortable sweaters and didn't look like he was going anywhere anytime soon.

He smiled over his shoulder at Richard. "Aw damn, you beat me to it. I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed. But now that you're here... try this." Carefully sidestepping an offended Oscar, he came over to Richard holding up a fork with something on it. "Open up," he coaxed, eyes narrowed and sparkling with mirth, and that _smile_...

Richard did as he was told, letting Lee deposit the bite into his mouth and chewing mechanically. "Pancake," he said after a moment, still puzzling over the fact that Lee was, in fact, still here. And making pancakes for breakfast, apparently. "It's good."

"Mom's special recipe. Sally got her skills from no stranger." Reaching out, Lee gently wiped some powdered sugar from Richard's lip and licked it off his finger, a completely innocuous gesture that distracted Richard nonetheless. "Coffee's almost ready too. You OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Richard followed Lee into the kitchen and watched him scoop up Oscar for a cuddle. Lee's suitcase was sitting in its normal spot by the window, decidedly unpacked. "Lee, when is your flight?"

"Flight?"

"Your flight home." Richard stared down at his toes on the linoleum floor like they were of great interest to him. "Tomorrow is Christmas. I know we didn't really discuss it, but I assumed- you'd have a flight to catch today."

"I don't, actually."

"What do you mean, you don't?"

Lee shrugged and put Oscar down, then straightened up with a sheepish grin. "Like I told you, I wanted to hang around London a bit longer this year, see how that worked out. And I think it worked out pretty well. Beyond expectation, actually. So... I put off booking a return ticket."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Lee blushed and rolled his eyes. "Do you really need to ask?"

"I'm just confused."

"Yes, I can see that."

Richard took his glasses off and tried rubbing the sleep from his eyes, hoping it would help him think more clearly. "Lee... Why did you come into my bedroom last night?"

Lee smiled. "The reason is pretty simple - I wanted to. I wanted to so bad I couldn't sleep, I was going crazy thinking about you in the next room. I wanted to be near you, touch you."

"But why?" Richard cringed. He sounded like a broken record, but he wanted so badly to understand, to fathom this man who upset his equilibrium like nothing else.

"Richard, is it truly that hard for you to believe that I might be genuinely attracted to you? I'm not in the habit of crawling into bed with every guy I meet and offering them blow jobs."

"You can't possibly be attracted to me."

"Oh, I can't?" Lee caught Richard by the waist and slowly backed him up against the kitchen counter, eyes dancing. "You calling me a liar, sir? You accusing me of playing games?"

"No," Richard said quickly, mortified by the suggestion, even if it was in jest. "I know you're not like that."

"Good." Lee grew more serious, and he gently cupped Richard's cheek, eyes roving over him affectionately before fixing him with a steady gaze. "Because I _am_ attracted to you, Richard, and I will keep telling you that until you no longer doubt it. You're sweet and kind, funny, well-read, and an all-round lovely and interesting person to be around. And I'll tell you something else - last night, I enjoyed that. I would do it again if you let me."

Richard flushed and felt a twitch between his legs at Lee's silky promise. He was sure that Lee could feel it, too. "Technically I think I owe you one first," he blurted, and a surprised smile spread across Lee's face at that unexpectedly sassy retort.

"We're not keeping a tally, Rich. But if that's an offer, I'm not gonna say no."

Richard's knees buckled, so strong was the raw sexual desire spiking through his veins at the thought. He could just get down on his knees right here on the kitchen floor and take Lee's cock out of his pants and smell the scent of him and Lee would _let him_ and put his hand on the back of his head and make these little moaning sounds low in his throat and-

"I'm too old for you," he objected feebly, some small part of his brain spewing out what sounded even to him like a last-ditch excuse. _Why do I keep doing that_ , he asked himself. _Why can't I just embrace the one thing that has made me happier than I remember being for the last thirty years?_ "I'm not one of those ridiculous middle-aged men who keep a boy toy."

Lee laughed. "That's very flattering, Richard, considering I'm turning forty in a couple of months. Plenty old enough, I should point out, to decide these things for myself. Besides, Rich, it's a bit shady of you to clutch your pearls over a twelve year age gap and say I'm too young when you were eight years younger than Guy."

Richard shook his head stubbornly. "I didn't say you're too young, I'm saying I'm too old. There's a difference."

"Well, not to me." Lee certainly matched him for stubbornness, though, and if Richard was honest, he didn't want to expend any more time and energy on trying to convince him when all he could think about was kissing this man and dragging him back to the warmth of his bed.

"So now what?"

"You tell me," Lee said calmly. "I've said my bit. It's up to you now to decide what happens next."

"But don't you have a life to get back to? Work? What about your family?"

"Let me figure that out if and when I have to. Just start by telling me what _you_ want, Richard."

Richard gave a shaky sigh and lowered his head, resting it on the solidity of Lee's shoulder. He was tired of protesting, of fighting. Everything in him just wanted to reach out and grab what Lee was offering with both hands and hold on for as long as he could. "Just as a warning in advance - if you do stay, you have to know that I'm probably going to end up falling head over heels in love with you, if I haven't already."

"I don't have a problem with that."

"I may or may not develop a wee problem with abandonment anxiety and become a stage five clinger and also demand that you rub my shoulders more often than you would like."

Lee smiled. "I'm sure we'll find a way to work with that, too. And I happen to be quite good at shoulder rubs."

At this, Richard looked up and met Lee's gaze. "Then stay," he said, heart pounding. Bloody hell, this man was going to be the death of him one day.

"Are you sure?"

Richard nodded. "Stay," he repeated, more strongly, releasing his death grip on the edge of the countertop behind him and curling his arms around Lee instead. It felt incredible, Lee's body such a good fit for his own. "Spend Christmas here. With me. I'd be so happy if you did."

Lee's smile broadened into an expression of pure delight, and he took Richard's chin between his fingers and kissed him, slow and reassuring. Then he looked at Oscar, who was sitting at their feet eating happily from a strip of pancake someone - not Richard - must have surreptitiously dropped on the floor.

"Do you hear that, Ozzie? What do you think? Looks like I'll be crashing here a bit longer, if you're chill with that?" The cat didn't acknowledge him, entirely too preoccupied with gobbling down this rare treat.

"You know what," Lee gleamed as he turned back to Richard, "I'm gonna take that as a yes."

Richard smiled. "I don't think it counts if you bribe them with food, Lee. And it looks like we're going to have to put some rules and boundaries in place when it comes to sneaking the cat treats," he added with a stern wiggle of his eyebrows. "We can't both be spoiling him silly, or he'll end up the size of a pumpkin."

"Point taken, and I do apologize. I like to spoil those I care about - a flaw of mine - as I hoped these pancakes would convey." Almost shy after this confession, Lee kissed him again, and Richard closed his eyes and kissed him back, marveling at how naturally it came and how quickly he seemed to be relearning this. Feeling brave, he slid his hands down to grasp Lee by the hips and pull him closer, his fingers slipping under the hem of Lee's sweater of their own accord and caressing bare skin. Lee was like nectar to a bee, an elixir of life, and Richard knew that one drink would not satisfy this thirst now awakened in him. He wanted to drink greedily. He wanted to take this living, breathing miracle of flesh and bones back to bed and tattoo him with kisses, every perfect inch of him.

"God, you're gorgeous," he murmured thickly, dazed and drunk on... was it love? It might very well be. What he _was_ sure of was the ripple passing through Lee's body in response to his words. They'd slipped out unplanned, like so many truths he'd already told this man, but he sure as hell wasn't going to take them back. On the contrary, he wanted to say them again and again. He wanted to gush without shame and say everything that was in his heart, even if the words he used to do so were clumsy and rusty from years of neglect. "I want you, Lee, all of you."

He would get better at this. That much he promised himself, promised Lee.

"Soon," Lee promised, a little breathlessly, and he pulled away with obvious reluctance, ignoring Richard's mournful whine - that was the thing with these kisses, they left him wanting more, always more - and ushering him out of the kitchen. "We have a couple hours before the shop opens, and rest assured, we're going to make the most of them."

"We are?"

Lee chuckled low, his lips ghosting against Richard's ear as he gave Richard's ass a playful pat and gently pushed him in the direction of the bedroom. "You better believe it, Richard. Now go on, back to bed with you. Keep it nice and warm while I finish this surprise breakfast that is no longer a surprise, and I'll be right in there with you."

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr (wirkmood) where I reblog a lot of Richard Armitage and occasionally whine about being a writer :)


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